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It had been a normal day in Snowchester. Ranboo had come over to visit Micheal and Tubbo and had been there for about two hours. Michael was taking a nap, Ranboo was hunched over, writing down what had happened that day ("this is one of the days I don't want to forget"), and Tubbo was sitting next to him, leaning back in his chair, staring off into space. Ranboo shifted, and Tubbo glanced down at her, eyes settling on their hands.

"Hey, Ranboo?" he asked.

"Yeah, Tubbo?" Ranboo responded, looking up. "What's up?"

"Where's your ring, bossman?" Tubbo responded, picking up one of his husband's hands. "You're not wearing it."

"Yes, I am," Ranboo said, lifting his shirt and holding up a silver chain with a ring hanging from it. The ring was truly Tubbo-Esque -- silver, plated with gold, sculpted slightly clumsily, and set with a large, dark emerald surrounded by smaller, vaguely irregular bits of obsidian and spinel.

Tubbo looked at it. "Oh! Why don't you wear it on your hand, then? Is it, like, an Enderman thing or something?"

Ranboo tucked the ring on the chain back under her shirt and thought. It was hard to remember, and it was foggy, but he could vaguely think of their mother talking to her. We wear rings around our necks so that they're closer to our heart, she'd said.

"Yeah," Ranboo responded. "Something like that."

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